


Shacked Up, Dicked Down

by Apathy



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Comedy, Getting Together, M/M, Somewhat Forced Proximity, Technically an M Rating But Not Very Sexy, flimsy pretexts, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy
Summary: It’s an American shack rather than a Canadian one, but sometimes you just have to make do with what’s at hand.
Relationships: Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Shacked Up, Dicked Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/gifts).



> Written for withinmelove for Chocolate Box 2021.
> 
> With thanks as always to my beta!

Great stories are instantly recognisable by a whole bunch of things. Their gravitas. Their grandeur. Their ability to weave complex tales of triumph or woe that effortlessly span generations and speak across the centuries. Their powerful insights into the human condition. Their deep and meaningful metaphors that strike you with subtlety and grace, and leave you breathless and begging for more.

‘Wow. Talk about a plot contrivance!’

This is one of those stories.

*

Nate, for his part, doesn’t seem quite so thrilled by my discovery. ‘Nnh.’

‘Oh, come on. Little shack in the middle of nowhere? Only one bed?’ I rattle at the door handle, but apparently some asshole decided to lock it. ‘It’s a classic for a reason! Who knows what could happen?’

‘ _No._ ’

‘Sure, it’s a little run-down, but that kind of thing’s totally in right now. Shabby chic! I bet there’s, like, a cute little fireplace, and mismatched plates, and a tattered yet oh-so-soft rug that you can tenderly lay me down upon before you tend my ills.’

I can see Nate fighting the good fight, endeavouring with all his manly glory to remain a disinterested, monosyllabic caveman... and, eventually, caving in. ‘What ills?’

‘Two syllables! Be still my beating heart!’ I handily blast the lock off the door – after a couple of false starts and a ricochet that really stings – and kick the door down. Literally. Clearly the hinges were just there for decoration, because the whole thing falls to the floor, sending up a bunch of dust and God knows what else.

‘Anyway,’ I wheeze, waving a hand in front of my face and trying not to hack up my lungs, ‘my feet are killing me.’

‘I really don’t see what that has to do with me.’ Nate is clearly trying his best to keep from sneezing and/or punching me in the face. One out of two ain’t bad, buddy.

‘You’ll be giving me footrubs by the fire, obviously.’

Nate mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘I gave up my old life for _this?_ ’, but I let it go, because I’m a magnanimous kinda guy. Louder, he says that he’s not going to touch my fucking disgusting feet, and okay, that’s the kind of slander that I simply won’t stand for.

‘Healing factor! I have the healthiest feet in the world! Except for maybe Wolverine’s. Not that I contemplate his feet.’ On more than a weekly basis, anyway. Bi-weekly at most.

‘Still gotta wash them, bozo.’ He makes a face that’s slightly more constipated than usual. ‘Anyway, if you’ve got a healing factor, then you don’t need... ugh. _Footrubs_.’

‘Pretty sure footrubs are guaranteed under the Geneva Conventions. Do you really want to run the risk of committing a war crime?’

‘For you? Always.’

‘Aww, you say the sweetest things.’

We’re still staring inside like a couple of idiots – well, one idiot and one devastatingly charming leading man – until Nate shoves me bodily through the doorway. I probably don’t really _need_ to sprawl onto the ground face-first with my cute little tush up in the air, technically speaking; but he took me by surprise, and my feet really _do_ hurt. This is just the quickest way to get my weight off them, and, hopefully, get Nate’s weight onto me.

‘Once you’re done presenting your filthy ass like some kind of back-alley mutt, maybe we can actually work out what to do next.’

‘I will do no such thing.’ I give a bit of a wiggle for emphasis; when that gets no response, I treat him to a coy glance over my shoulder. He’s doing his best to pretend he’s looking anywhere but at yours truly, but I know better. ‘Anyway, we already know what to do next: huddle for warmth. Obviously.’

‘That doesn’t even deserve an answer.’

Well, clearly – it’s so obviously correct that there’s no point disputing it.

‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘we can’t just sit here forever.’

‘Says you.’

Nate heaves a sigh. He does that a lot. Can’t be healthy. ‘We’re fifteen miles from headquarters. We can walk that in a few hours.’

‘What part of “my feet hurt” do you not understand? They’re literally killing me!’

‘Literally? Well, then,’ he says with a gleam in his eye that’s one part terrifying and one part hard-on fuel, ‘maybe I should liberate you from them. They’ll grow back, right?’

That’s a shiver of fear. Definitely fear, uh-huh. ‘I know you won’t do it.’

‘Won’t I?’

‘Oh, I know you’d cut them off, big ol’ jerk that you are. But you wouldn’t be able to handle watching them grow back, ’cause you’re an enormous baby like that.’

‘Says the guy with the literal baby feet.’

Nate may be trying to sound indifferent and badass, but there’s definite queasiness there beneath the bravado. Advantage: Deadpool. ‘Yeah, my teeny-tiny, creepy, squirmy little baby feet. You really wanna be seeing _those_ puppies for the next however many hours?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he grunts. ‘I’ll just leave you here to rot.’

He wouldn’t! ‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Yeah? Wanna try me?’

It’s almost cute, when he pretends he doesn’t care. ‘Nate, if you were gonna do something so cruel and callous, you would’ve put a bullet in my head and fucked off already. But you can’t bring yourself to do it, because you love me too much.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Your tsundere tendencies are all part of your charm, big guy.’

‘Seriously, asshole, I’m warning you.’

‘You couldn’t bring yourself to hurt a single hair on my bald, freakish hea–’

Okay, so getting some sort of futuristic laser beam through the foot really _does_ hurt. I can see now that I was exaggerating before when I said that my feet were killing me. I feel like there’d be some sort of moral lesson in this, if only I could work out what it was.

“Jesus Christ! For the love of – _ow!_ ’

Nate’s only response to that is to sneeze again – and again. He’s chaining them in some sort of combo, and it’d be impressive if it weren’t so darn cute.

‘Why did you have to stir up – _hggh_ – so much dust, you absolute fucking shithead? And – _agh_ – stop showing me your goddamn ass already!’

‘Nice boys don’t talk to girls like that.’ I flip myself over to sit on my butt – only to nurse my poor abused foot, not because Nate told me to.

‘Good thing I never claimed to be nice.’

Poor Nate. It would probably score higher on the machismo scale if he weren’t mouthbreathing and wiping snot off his face with the back of his hand. Guess they don’t have dust in the future.

‘Y’know, some people like it when someone big and tough shows their softer, more vulnerable side. I wouldn’t have gone with a dust allergy as my first preference, but I’m an adaptable guy. I can work with this.’

‘Should’ve shot myself,’ Nate mutters, and wow, uncalled for. My companionship is first-rate! Who _wouldn’t_ want to be stuck in an allergen-festooned cesspit with yours truly?

... Wait. Was this all part of his plan? Is it – oh, shit.

I check my watch. February 14th.

‘You sly old dog! You brought me all the way here, and shot me so I’d have no choice but to stay here and get waited on hand, foot, and finger?’

Nate is capable of some pretty blank stares, but this one is impressive even by his standards. ‘What?’

‘And they say romance is dead.’ The great thing about wearing a mask is that no one can see it when you cry. ‘Thanks, big guy.’

For once, Nate is entirely speechless, and my heart grows ten sizes. All this time I’d thought he was incapable of emotions beyond ‘kill’ and ‘complain’, but now he’s truly outdone himself by unlocking the elusive third emotion. No, not umami – ‘heartfelt gesture’.

I lift my foot to check out his heartfelt gesture a little more closely, and yeah, don’t think I’m gonna be going anywhere anytime soon.

‘Well, looks like we have no choice but to hang out here until we get rescued. You know what they say: when life gives you lemons....’

Nate glowers down at me from where he’s leaning against the wall. Gotta say, the tissues jammed up each nostril kind of ruin the effect. But what’s _really_ chafing my bikini line is his refusal to play the straight guy to my witty protag. I’ve given him an opening here, and he’s refusing to take it.

I gesture at him encouragingly. ‘Let’s try again. When life gives you lemons....’

Pretty sure Nate just bit into a lemon, if his expression is anything to go by. Surprised he can get any words out through that manly gritted jaw of his. ‘... Throw a lemonparty?’

‘What?! No! Oh my God. You _make lemonade,_ Nate. Jeez.’ What is even with this guy? ‘Seriously, what the hell? How do you even _know_ about that?’

‘It’s one of the few cultural artefacts that survived from this period of history. I studied it at school, before all the schools were destroyed.’

His face is about as readable as a brick wall, and God, what is even going on inside that skull of his? There are depths there that even I fear to plumb.

‘Well, that just ruined the mood.’ It didn’t, actually, but Nate doesn’t need to know that. Anyway, he’s apparently too busy peering out through the hole where the door used to be, rearranging his tissues and mouthbreathing really loud. However, he’s kind enough to take a break from his busy wheezing and hacking schedule to give me a dirty look.

‘What use is it having a guy on the team whose sole purpose is to drive cabs – ’

‘Hey, he does a fine job of fetching pizza!’

‘ – If you won’t even call him to pick us up?’

‘It’s Dopinder’s day off! He deserves it, for all the hard work he does behind the scenes.’ No one ever appreciates the little guy. Well, _I_ appreciate you, Dopinder.

‘Like what, doing your laundry?’ Nate’s nose wrinkles. ‘... Okay, I get it. He deserves it. But that doesn’t mean we have to just stay here.’

‘What part of this don’t you get?’ I spread my arms to encompass the entirety of the room we’ve found ourselves in, which, I’ve just now realised, doesn’t even have a bed, and I foresee a lot of splinters in one or both of our futures. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere – ’

‘We’re half a mile from the road. I just heard a truck go past.’

‘And it’s freezing cold – ’

‘It’s the high sixties at worst, you goddamn pussy.’

‘And the law dictates that in these circumstances, we have to snuggle.’

There’s this thing that Nate does sometimes, where you just _know_ that he’s having one of those moments where he’s obviously ninety-nine per cent certain that someone is fucking with him, but that other one per cent is just wondering if that’s just how things are done in The Past, and he freezes up like a very small deer in front of some really fucking huge headlights. If someone tells him that he’s under arrest for failure to share body heat, well, maybe people in The Past really were just that stupid.

The good news for Nate is that we really are that stupid. Hell, I fell for him, didn’t I?

‘I’m so cold, Nate. I can feel Death’s clammy fingers on my face.’

‘You’re wearing a mask.’

‘Not anymore!’ I tear it off; passion dictates that I fling it across the room. ‘Look into these eyes, Nate.’

‘Must I?’

‘Gaze into them, and tell me that you’re okay with me dying of hypothermia when my salvation was here all along. Gaze into them, and tell me that you’re okay with Death’s frigid fingerbones feeling up my pert, defenceless derrière.’

‘At this point, I think I’m extremely okay with it.’

‘Wow. Cold. Which is what the ground will be when they bury me in it. I bet you won’t even bring me flowers.’

Nate’s look turns considering. Ish. The furrow between his eyebrows is _this_ much shallower than usual. Think Tonga Trench, rather than Mariana. I can hear the cogs creaking in his head, and it’s really gosh-darn annoying.

‘If I....’ Nate scrunches his eyes closed and lets out a really unnecessarily long-suffering sigh. ‘Will you shut up for five goddamn seconds if I....’

‘Dance a jig? Sing _O Canada_ while standing on one foot? Recite the Hebrew alphabet backwards? Probably not, but I _will_ be impressed, Nate, and that counts for a hell of a lot in these troubled times. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Professor X for you the next time he and I are on a coffee date –’

I’m so busy thinking up delightful scenarios to charm the pants off my decidedly undelightful and charmless companion that I barely notice him stomping across the room towards me – and I suppose I should be surprised that it’s taken this long for someone to try to shut me up with the good old “dick to the mouth” trick. Didn’t even see him whipping it out, but really, I should’ve, because that thing is _large_. I’m talking seriously impressive, here. Guy’s keeping some handy pipe tucked away in his tighty whities, just in case he needs to do some emergency plumbing work.

But I am nothing if not up for a challenge, even when that challenge is sniffling into its disgusting tissues. They’re blocking the view, keeping me from seeing the smouldering sensuality that undoubtedly radiates from the steely depths of his gaze, but that’s okay, I can work with this. Even when he’s all laid up with allergies – which, _adorable_ – Nate does a really good menacing loom. He still sets my loins all a-tingle, even if his definition of ‘snuggling’ seems to be at variance with the rest of the known universe’s. Maybe this is just how they do it in the future? You have to respect an epoch that knows what it wants and doesn’t bother with all that shilly-shally “wining and dining” stuff – it just pops your jaw open and jams its unexpectedly girthy meat in your mouth.

I pull back for just a moment. “Surprise face-fucking, huh? And here I thought your love language was more along the “quality time” axis.’

‘Acts of service, asshole,’ he grunts. ‘You’d better appreciate it.’

‘And how!’

A _teensy_ part of me suspects that this might not be entirely altruistic on Nate’s part... but, well, the larger part of me gives less than zero damns. Fewer? Shit, that one always trips me up.

‘Stop thinking,’ Nate growls, ‘and get sucking. Before I change my mind.’

Well, I’m a military kinda guy, and if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s follow orders. Sometimes, anyway. When I want to follow them. And this order is one of the better ones I’ve received in my life. Certainly better than the time when Cyclops told me to go make him some grilled cheese, and so I –

‘Why the _hell_ are you still talking? How can you talk with a dick in your mouth?’

This is me we’re talking about! Even if you haven’t read the comics – and if not, that’s a you problem – you should’ve noticed the narration by now. It’s kind of hard to miss.

So anyway, I was in that giant fuck-off kitchen, and the cheese was _way_ out of date – like, crawling out of the packet out of date –

‘Keep this up and I’m pulling out, you son of a bitch.’

Hey, I wouldn’t have a problem with that – fun though this is, there are better places you could put it. Definitely time for a little bodyslide by two before you sweep me up into your burly arms and carry me back to civilisation.

Anyhoo, I bring Cyclops his grilled cheese, and he says, oh, you’re jizzing on my face. Classy.

... Is that what I’m saying to Nate right now, or is it just reported speech from a mildly amusing anecdote? I’ll let you be the judge of that, dear reader.

‘Are we interrupting something? Should we come back later?’

And it’s Domino, right on cue, together with the rest of X-Force. Apparently they wandered into our little love nest at some point and made themselves at home, and I am _really_ starting to regret bringing those guys back. Peter at least has the common decency to pretend to be looking at the view through the window, his moustache all of a twitter, even if Zeitgeist apparently thinks it’s totally necessary to be obviously vomiting acid on the fallen leaves outside, which has to be in violation of some kind of environmental protection law. 

‘Nothing at all,’ Nate mutters, jamming it back in his pants and stomping out the door, taking his beefy haunches and his clogged sinuses with him.

Ah, well. Goodnight, sweet prince. At least the hole he shot in my foot has healed, so I can actually stand up and stagger my way to the door.

Side by side, Domino and I watch as Nate fades into the distance, pausing only briefly to yell at a branch that gets caught in his shirt. I sigh.

‘We made beautiful music together, he and I, but I think it just wasn’t meant to be.’

She shrugs. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re in with a shot.’

‘Oh, yeah? And what’s telling you that? Luck? Intuition? The strangely intrusive motivational message inside your box of tampons?’

‘Could be any of those. Or, it could be the fact that he decided to jam his junk in your mouth rather than tell you to shut the hell up, like any sane person would.’

‘Just how long were you all standing there watching, anyway? I feel like this kind of thing is a workplace harassment complaint waiting to happen... and I’m pretty sure Dopinder bought his HR degree off the dark web, so I’m not overly confident in our being able to achieve a swift and mutually acceptable resolution in full accordance with all relevant laws.’

Still, she makes a compelling argument. Could it be that Nate might actually want to wave his dick in my face again, but this time just as a heartfelt gesture?

I look around the room. Peter gives me a thumbs-up and a cheerful nod. Bedlam mutters awkward words of encouragement without meeting my eyes. Zeitgeist just keeps vomiting. I am incredibly aware of the jizz on my face... but, well, sometimes you’ve just gotta be willing to look like a giant ass for the sake of love.

Domino hands me my mask and a handful of tissues. ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’

*

So, there you have it. Another great story over and done with, leaving you feeling touched and possibly aroused. This one had everything: action, adventure, romance, suspense, and _just_ enough rhinorrhoea to keep things interesting.

And if you feel like you’ve been left hanging on the will-they-won’t-they front, I can confirm that yes, I caught up to Nate, grabbed him by the shoulders, and gave him the tongue-bathing of a lifetime, before gently lowering him to the ground and having my tender way with him. He might tell you that what actually happened is that he pinned me down and pounded my ass on the side of the road while passing truckers tooted their horns and threw beer cans at us, but, well, isn’t that kind of ambiguous ending all the rage these days?

In any case, Nate and I are a hot and sexy item, X-Force is now fully stocked with Zyrtec, and we hired ourselves a proper HR person so that Dopinder could devote his time to his beloved taxi-driving and uniform-washing. As they say in showbiz, all’s well that ends well.


End file.
